The Vagrant Albatross had been favored with a strong tailwind for much of its journey towards the kingdom of Koumazot, but today the air seemed still and heavy, dragging the sails forward at barely half of yesterday's pace.
This was no hardship for Grummen, and in fact was a welcome change. The ship's previous speed had required plenty of deckside work: furling and unfurling sails per the bosun's demands, looking out for storms, and keeping the ship as orderly as possible as it raced through the waves. Now, with the wind died down and the crew at a loss for much to do, Grummen finally had time to fish.
He was no stranger to open-water fishing, but he hadn't had the opportunity in a long time. It required a different kind of patience than fishing on the quiet shores of Quillpond, or even from the docks in Evershoal. He contemplated whether he could use a net.
His thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of Gannet Del Mar, one of the Albatross' crew, who hopped onto the bulwark beside Grummen, dangling his legs over the water. He wore an open shirt, cutoff linen trousers and no shoes, and his unruly blue hair billowed around him as though in a much stronger breeze.
"Any luck?" he asked.
Grummen eyed the newcomer warily, the crew mostly avoided him very, very politely, what was this one up to? “Not for fish” Grummen grinned and gestured to the enormous tuna fish on the deck. Mari had said something about “killing with kindness,” Grummen would see if it killed this one.
Gannet let out a low whistle. "That's impressive, man," he said. "You do a lot of fishing?"
“Yes” Grummen grunted in what might be considered friendly tones.
"Cool, cool," said Gannet, nodding. They hadn't yet figured out what to make of Grummen. The Harpies seemed to like him pretty well, and Gannet had never seen him act cruel or even impolite. All the same, the symbol of the Eye spoke for itself. Most of the crew had made an unspoken pact to give him a respectful distance and hope he left the ship without incident. But Gannet was leaving with him once they got to Koumazot. He needed some kind of rapport, and ideally a clue as to why a cultist was moonlighting as a do-gooder.
"So, what else d'you like to do?" he asked.
“Fight, carve” he paused thoughtfully and with gusto said “EAT.” There was a conversation piece that was supposed to come next…. “You?”
"Eat is up there for me too." Gannet looked thoughtfully at the horizon. "I like to perform. I like to meet people. Get to meet lots of cool folks now that I'm hanging out with you guys." He held his hand over the sea. A column of water came up to meet him. He fiddled with it contemplatively, stretching and squishing it like clay between his left hand and his right hook. "How long you been with the Harpies?" Grummen shrugged noncommittally. Gannet tilted his head curiously. "D'you like working with them?" Grummen shrugged slightly more positively.
Beating around the bush wasn't getting them anywhere, Gannet decided. "That's some pretty sick scarification," he said. "Cult of the Eye, right? You still run with those guys?"
Grummen looked down at his scars and back up at this nosey blue person more warily. “Grummen not run, Grummen sail”
"Right, right." Gannet let the water he'd been playing with settle on his hand. It moved with his thoughts like a limb, forming the rough shape of a ship. "So, you still sail with 'em?"
“Grummen sail here” he said, reappraising this blue person. He had read them all wrong, they were clearly confused, possibly drunk.
"You sail here," Gannet repeated. "And, the people who gave you these -" he pointed to Grummen's scars - "you haven't seen them in a while?"
Grummen looked back in the direction of a small town and the memory of a funeral pyre, “no” he grunted.